


yesterday

by Granspn



Series: queen in 3d [1]
Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: also my characterization of him is incredibly unbased in fact bc i know nothing about the man, kinda annoyed kinda jealous kinda confused, not exactly sure how i would describe tim's emotions toward freddie, so bear with me i guess, unfortunately this one is pre-deaky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-19
Updated: 2019-03-29
Packaged: 2019-11-24 09:37:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18163511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Granspn/pseuds/Granspn
Summary: This installment featuring the story of Freddie joining the group, wherein according to Tim he would have been stunning if he weren’t so annoying





	1. all my troubles seemed so far away

Freddie wasn’t strictly speaking invited to band practice. On account of him not being a member of the band, Tim was keen to remind Brian and especially Roger who insisted on dragging his bizarre little friend along with him to every fucking gig. So that clearly wasn’t about to stop him from crashing practice, either, and splaying himself across the piano bench like a jazz era club singer, belting out impromptu harmonies and just generally throwing them off their rhythm. 

“Are you quite sure it wouldn’t sound better with some piano?” Freddie asked, his gaze directed past Tim and instead at Brian, who paused the riff he’d been plucking to think about it. 

“Of course we’re _quite sure_ ,” Tim answered instead. “We actually don’t have a bloody pianist because our tracks don’t need a bloody piano.” 

Roger rolled his eyes and gave his drumsticks a casual twirl before speaking, “Relax, Tim. We have been trying to get it to be crisp but still soft somehow. Maybe save the guitar for the heavier second verse and open with just keys. Might be the right feeling.” 

“Yeah, I want to try it,” Brian agreed, “Been trying all day to find the right phase settings but nothing sounds quite good enough. But maybe layered with the piano or even as you say waiting until the second verse…” he trailed, his fingers absently playing hammer-ons while he thought, “I’ll stay in phase then and it should be really clean right up until the bridge.”

“Then?” Roger encouraged him.

“Blast it,” Brian explained casually, a smile spreading across his face. Thick as fucking thieves, those two. 

Tim had thought this was his band. His and Brian’s of course. But not Roger Taylor, the miracle drummer of Truro’s, and certainly not Freddie fucking Mercury’s, the twat with all the answers, apparently. But every day he saw Brian and Roger become more and more synchronous, more and more miraculous, looking at each other like they’d been waiting their whole lives to meet, and listening to Freddie’s advice like it was gospel and not like he was just some fashion student come to hang out and be stared at and stare back in return. Tim thought Freddie and Roger were the biggest pair of attention seekers in the world, and if Brian was fool enough to fall for their charms, Tim didn’t want to be the one to pay the price. 

While Tim had been thinking, Freddie had started to play. His fingers grazed the keys with a sort of purposeful laziness, mimicking the way a chord would sound if strummed instead of plucked. Brian tested out his settings atop Freddie’s rhythm, experimenting with a few new riffs and melodies and Roger marked the lyrics under his breath. 

“Earth to Staffell,” Brian said, pausing for a second, “Could we get a bit of bass, please?” Delivered wrong, it would have sounded antagonistic, but nothing coming from Brian could sound anything less than sickeningly accommodating. 

“Yeah, yeah, sorry,” Tim said, and began emphatically plucking. He tried not to admit to himself how much better it sounded already and tried to just focus on singing instead.

“ _Yesterday, my life was in ruins. Now today, I know what I’m doing,_ ” he sang. Brian had come with the idea for the song, as he usually did. Depressing as always. Even when he tried to write something light it came off like he was on the brink of suicide when he sat down with the guitar, pen, and paper. Still, Tim had managed to convince him to use some of his lyrics in the bridge and given Roger and opportunity to show off some fills for good measure. 

“ _Anyway, I should be doing all right.”_ Freddie and Brian played the interim chords like they were reverberating off each other, the piano acting as a second amplifier. The effect would have been stunning if it wasn’t so annoying. 

“ _Doing all right,”_ the three of them sang. Strike that, the four of them, Freddie’s crystal tenor cutting across Brian’s warm tones like a knife and wrestling with Roger’s falsetto for dominance. 

“Christ!” Tim said, clamping a hand down on his fretboard, abruptly stopping the calm vibration of his lingering bass note, “You’re messing me up, mate. You gotta just let us do our thing,” he told Freddie, and told himself he really was trying to be civil.

“I dunno,” Brian said innocently, “I thought it sounded quite good actually.” 

“Of course you bloody did,” Tim said. In his periphery he saw Roger roll his eyes. 

“Come off it, Tim,” Roger implored, “It’s just a bit of fun.” 

“No, no,” Freddie said with a flourish as he swiveled around on the piano bench, “I wouldn’t want to ruin your concentration.” 

“Look, Freddie, I understand they’re your mates, but you can’t just hang around in here all the time when we’re trying to rehearse, okay?” 

“Why not?” Brian interjected, looking up from where he’d been fiddling with his gain. 

“I can’t focus when he’s in here! He’s so… loud!” 

“I’m loud,” Roger said. 

“Too right,” Tim said. 

“Look,” Brian said, compulsively moderating, “If it sounds good, we should keep it up. That’s basically the first principle of being in a band, I should think.” Tim could no longer ignore the smirk emerging on Freddie’s face as his own bandmates came to his defense. 

“Well, fine! When you do _inevitably_ record it with Fred, do remember to give me credit,” Tim said, slinging off his bass with what Roger figured was undue violence. Brian looked confused and a little shellshocked. Unable to not comply with requests thrown his way, he answered. 

“Yeah. Yes, of course,” he said obligingly.

“Tosser,” Tim spat at him as he brushed past, taking care to bump Brian’s shoulder on the way out.

“See you Tuesday!” Roger called after him. As the door slammed, Brian just continued to look dumbfounded.

“What the hell was that about?” He asked to the room at large.

“You can be quite thick sometimes, you know,” Freddie said casually from his perch at the piano. “For someone so allegedly clever you are quite emotionally dense, darling.” 

“Tell me how you really feel,” Brian said. 

“He thinks you’re replacing him,” Freddie said frankly, looking up at Brian where he stood. 

“What, with you?” Brian asked. Freddie shrugged in assent. 

“Ridiculous,” Roger scoffed from behind the drums, “We all know you can’t play bass.” 

“Yeah, exactly,” Brian said softly, as Freddie stood up and walked over to him and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m not trying to cause trouble. I don’t want to get in the middle of anything good you’ve got going, really,” Freddie said, squeezing Brian’s arm ever so slightly before releasing it, “But I’m not _not_ having a good time,” he said with a wink as he turned to leave. 

“Fred?” Roger called to him before he’d made it out, “Don’t worry about him. Tim, I mean. He’s a tosser.” 

“Jesus,” Brian mumbled.

“I think you’ll find we’re all tossers, my dear,” Freddie said, “Will you pick up something for dinner on the way home? I’m famished.” 

“Pick it up yourself, Amadeus,” Roger tried to tell him, but he’d already slinked out the door. 

“God,” Brian said, as he unplugged his guitar, “I don’t know what the hell it is I’m doing here.” 

“Making a bit of music, I suppose,” Roger answered, starting to deconstruct the high hat, “ _Anyway,”_ he sang softly, “ _I should be doing all right._ ” Brian joined in as they continued cleaning up the mess they inevitably made during the chaos of every practice. 

“ _Doing all right.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im lowkey enamored with Freddie’s ability to completely cause trouble with merely his presence, the man is chaos incarnate, though I get the sense it could be a nuisance at times for all involved. Anyway hopefully the next section of this will be up soon! As always lmk what you think, I love reading your comments!


	2. my life was in ruins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which brian doesn't like to think of the beatles splitting up, a bong is quite humpy, and a freddie mercurial

It had been a week since Tim’s last Freddie related outburst, and things seemed to have returned to normal, so Brian and Roger were absently setting up the studio waiting for their third to arrive. Perched on an amp, Brian tuned up and watched as Roger blew dark blonde hair from his face as he bent down to construct some cymbals. All their hair was in that in between stage between long and short where all the rock and rollers had it these days as they futilely tried not to look like they were taking all their fashion cues directly from the Beatles. Brian was saved from that particular fate by his uncompromising curls, but he also figured the whole Stevie Nicks thing would really work for Roger once all was said and done. While Brian then contemplated whether the fact that combined they would create Robert Plant was a good thing or a bad thing, Roger made idle chat. 

“Hey, two months, so says the NME,” Roger said. 

“What’s that?”

“A new Beatles record. But they reckon they’re gonna split up soon. ’S fucked,” Roger said, like he’d been reading Brian’s mind. 

“Yes, well, isn’t it good we’ll be there to save everyone once they’re gone,” Brian said. He didn’t like to think of the Beatles splitting up. He didn’t like to think of bands splitting up in general. Or people, for that matter. He didn’t like to think that one day Roger would find a better gig and move on before they’d even had a chance to discover their potential. He didn’t like to think that Rog would be singing lead in some garage group while Brian was back in his basement building an orchestra out of scraps in his free time and telescopes on commission. But he tried to keep his various bleak visions of the future to himself and instead imagine a world where the greatest songwriting duo ever to grace Great Britain and quite possibly the world weren’t about to capture their messy divorce on film and desert rock and roll just when he needed them most. 

“Hm,” Roger said, “Is that really what you have in mind for us?” 

“I don't know," Brian said, "I think we could be great." He spoke contemplatively, shirking the egomania of his earlier comment as he went on. "I’m not saying we’re the next Lennon and McCartney. I just think we could be special if we sort ourselves out a bit more.” 

“Yeah, I think I know what you mean,” Roger said, nodding toward the door as Tim came through conspicuously lacking his bass. 

“All right, Tim” Brian greeted him. 

“Forgotten something, have we?” Roger asked.

“About that,” Tim said from the doorway, “I’m quitting the band. I’m moving on.”

“What?” Brian asked, feeling like a small anvil had been dropped on him, or perhaps a very large stack of books from a great height. He thought perhaps he was having a stroke, or at the very least a panic attack.

“I’m out,” Tim explained, “I auditioned for someone else a few days ago, and I’m in. Humpy Bong.” Roger choked slightly on his own spit. 

“Excuse me?” Brian asked.

“That’s what they’re called. My new group.” 

“That is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard,” Roger muttered. “Christ, I dare you to think of a more outrageous name.” 

“I don’t need your approval on it, to be quite honest. I just came by to tell you I’m out,” he told Roger. His gaze softened for a moment as he directed it to Brian, “And good luck, Bri. Seriously.” 

“Oh, thanks, mate. Yeah, cheers,” Brian said, doing his best to keep an even tone as he watched Tim leave. Freddie’s words from the other day echoed in his head. “ _He thinks you’re replacing him.”_ Yeah. And now they were going to have to. 

“What are we gonna do?” Brian asked quietly, his worst fears having suddenly been confirmed. Roger sticks were stationary in his hands for once, his eyes marking the absence of their bassist from the doorway. 

“I don’t know. But I need a drink. And I think we should talk to Freddie.” 

 

***

“Oh my god!” Freddie had said from the doorway of his and Roger’s cramped flat downtown, and pulled the two of them into a hug without thinking. For a moment, Brian stiffened, but then allowed himself just to be still with his two friends, even resting his chin gently on the top of Freddie’s head while he felt Roger’s hand rub encouragingly between his shoulder blades. 

“It’s off to the pub, then!” Freddie exclaimed as he pulled away from the artists formerly known as Smile and scurried back inside to grab some shoes and an incredibly ratty yet somehow equally glamorous jacket that was apparently a necessary outfit piece for a lads’ night out. 

The walk to the bar was only a few blocks, but Freddie managed to make it an event in and of itself, serenading them with songs of their own creation and forcing them to sing along as he belted at and borderline harassed the streets of London.

“ _Keep yourself alive!”_

“Shut up, Fred!” Brian admonished, even though he couldn’t keep himself from grinning at the sheer ridiculousness of being or knowing Freddie Mercury.

“ _Keep yourself alive!”_ This time with Roger joined in for a harmony.

“Oh yeah?”

“ _All you people, keep yourself alive!”_

_“Take you all your time and money, honey you’ll survive!”_ Freddie and Roger sang the different lyrics simultaneously and the resulting explosion of gibberish only made Brian grin harder. 

“You are a fucking handful, you know that, right?” Brian said as they finally made their way inside and slipped into a booth. 

“Oh, please,” Freddie said, “You two are the handful. Such temperamental artists! Anyway, you sit. First round’s on me,” he added with a genuine smile as he pivoted and headed to the bar while Brian and Roger began to decompress. 

“Well, what do you think?” Roger said, “He’s totally in, right?”

Brian looked skeptical. “He’s in if he wants to be in, I suppose.”

“Oh, don’t tell me you feel guilty,” Roger said, doing his best not to sound petulant. 

“Tim’s my mate! And he’s only been out of the band forty-five minutes,” Brian exaggerated slightly, “What if he changes his mind and we’ve gone and replaced him?”

“Replaced him with the bloke he already figured we were replacing him with? I don’t think he’ll be shocked, anyroad.” 

“Not shocked, perhaps, but not thrilled neither.” 

“Well I don’t particularly give a shit if he’s thrilled one way or the other, to be blunt, Bri.” 

“Yes, I suppose you’re right.” Brian put his head in his hands for a moment, his fluffy hair hiding his face entirely until Freddie returned with their pints. 

“You will not believe what just happened!” He said as he slid into the booth beside Roger, “The young lady at the bar agreed to give me these completely free in exchange for my jacket!” 

“And you did it?” Roger asked.

“Good riddance. That thing was a flea-bitten rag, Fred,” Brian said, lifting his drink, “Cheers.” 

“Cheers,” Roger agreed before draining more of his pint than was perhaps wise. 

“To free drinks and flea-bitten fashion,” Freddie said, “And to the next round being on me, too.” 

“I’ll drink to that,” Brian said. 

They sat drinking and not talking for a few minutes while Ray Davies’ harsh timbre permeated the pub. Before Brian could make a cheeky comment about how far he could get them on the _Waterloo Sunset_ riff, Freddie spoke again. 

“I know you’re probably still in mourning,” he began.

“Jesus Christ,” Brian said.

“But it does look like you’ll be needing a new singer.” 

“That is exactly what I was just telling Brian,” Roger said. 

“Why, do you have somebody in mind?” Brian asked, cocking an eyebrow in mock curiosity. 

“I myself have been looking for a vacancy to fill, personally. I can’t help but notice how much we, so to speak, gel,” Freddie said tactfully. 

“Gel,” Brian repeated back to him.

“So to speak,” Roger said. 

“If you think it’s a good idea, that is,” Freddie said, “I truly don’t want to unbalance things or make you uncomfortable. I want to make good music and I can see that’s what we’d do. But if you don’t agree, I truly won’t be offended. I’ll be more offended if you lie and say you don’t mind, quite honestly.”

“Are you worried it’ll wreck our friendship or something?” Roger asked, “Isn’t that the kind of thing sensible people worry about?”

“Are we sensible people?” Freddie asked back. 

“A bit, yeah,” Brian said, nodding worriedly at Freddie. 

“Well, then, exactly,” he said, tapping Brian lightly on the chest. “Far too sensible to ruin a friendship over a bit of music.”

“I suppose so,” Roger said, turning over Freddie’s reasoning in his mind. 

“Just think about it,” Freddie said, “you don’t have to make a decision right now.”

“But I want to,” Brian said suddenly. He’d tried to make it work with Tim, probably for longer than was reasonable, and he’d been given a clean cut out, and a brilliant singer was just handing himself to them on a silver platter. A brilliant singer with an incredible personality and stage name to match, who they were already great friends with. Actually, Brian figures, there wasn’t anything he wanted more in the world than to be in a band with Freddie Mercury. Fuck Tim. Fuck Humpy Bong. Fuck anything besides making the best goddamn music they could. And fuck the Beatles breaking up. Brian, Roger, and Freddie were just getting started. 

“I want you in the group,” Brian said, “I think we might need you, actually. Quite a bit.”

Roger beamed up a him while Freddie seemed to release some tension and regain a human posture.

“Roger?” Freddie prompted.

“Yeah. Yes. Please. Let’s be in a fucking rock band,” he said, leaning back in the booth with an arm around each of his new bandmates. 

“Splendid,” Freddie said, draining the last of his glass in celebration. “Now that that’s decided, first things first. We simply must to do something about the name. It’s dreadfully boring and we are _not_ boring.”

“Oh god, please tell me I’m not going to regret this,” Brian said, immediately beginning to regret it. 

“Not on your life,” Freddie said, the twinkle in his eye almost enough to convince him. 

“ _Yesterday,”_ Brian heard quietly from beside him, _“My life was in ruins,”_ Roger was singing, a faint smile hanging low on his lips. 

“Ha! Yes, exactly!” Freddie said, “ _Now today, I know what I’m doing,”_ he joined in. Brian laughed under his breath. And he supposed they were right. 

“ _Anyway, I should be doing all right,_ ” he added his voice to the small chorus they now comprised.

“ _Doing all right.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm actually a fair bit happier with this bit than the last... i think i prefer writing our boys being soft and friends than having angst and yknow, can you blame me? anyway, as always, lmk what you think bc i absolutely love reading your comments!! and let me know if there's anything else you'd like to see from this little universe i've constructed bc i'm just havin fun here


End file.
